Monster
by Phantom's-Apprentice96
Summary: "It was the worst kind of nightmare; the kind where you couldn't run from the monster. The kind where the monster gets ever so closer, because for some reason, you're rendered immobile. Except this time it wasn't a nightmare. ... this time, the monster was inside you." Takes place before Mystery Meat. Angst day Fic. Enjoy.


**'MONSTER'**

**By Phantom's-Apprentice96**

**A (fashionably late) DP Angst Day Fic**

**Uploaded 03/10/12**

* * *

_"That truth is that monsters are real. They live inside us, and sometimes they win."_

-Stephen King

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You never thought you'd miss the dark; never thought you'd miss the stifling dread that gripped you every time you entered a light-less room. But you did.

_(-And it scared you.-)_

You'd never told anyone of it; your abnormal fear of what was lurking in those omnipresent shadows. People would make fun, pin the blame on an over-active imagination and the stresses of adolescence... They would forget, at least while it was convenient, that your parents were experts of the paranormal. They'd forget that in your life, the monsters and otherworldly creatures that plagued the nightmares of humanity were a very frightening, very _real_ threat.

The fact that your childhood had been riddled with your parent's speculations didn't help. Whenever you'd sought comfort from your parents, they'd only confirm your fears of the creatures that afflicted your dreams. Instead of embracing you in a comforting hug and reassuring you that the monsters weren't real, they'd fill your young mind with visions of the undead lurking in the shadows and waiting for you to drop your guard. You'd assumed that that was probably where the whole problem had begun, but you were no Jazz, so you could only guess at whether your parent's career choice had affected you mentally or not. _(-It's their fault. All their fault-)_

You'd begun to hate them for it. _(-They have to pay-)_

Hatred only went so far, though, and it was hard to hate your own parents... Instead, you'd found a new emotion, a whole bunch, in fact, to define you and your parent's relationship; and it was all thanks to the accident. Fear, dread, suspicion, deceit, doubt, anxiety, distrust- it had all started because of one little mistake. A little mistake that changed your life forever. _(-Ended it. Your parents killed you-)_

Your parents; in a sort of sick, twisted way, were the ones that had done this to you. They were the ones that had built the portal. They were the ones that spent the majority of their time down in that god-forsaken lab. They were the ones that had become withdrawn after the failure of their most prized experiment.

They were the ones that made you feel as if you needed to prove your worth.

All you wanted was for them to be happy. You just wanted them to be proud of you for once, forever being the overlooked child due to your average grades and over achieving sister. You wanted to be a part of their achievement; for your dad to make some comment about you being a true Fenton, and for your mother to give you a tight hug and stop being depressed because you really, really hated to see her cry. But now, after trying so hard and almost sort of succeeding, you could never really be a Fenton. Sure, you'd got the portal to work. Sure, your Dad was ecstatic and your mother was crying tears of joy rather than sorrow, but that was because they didn't _know_.

No one knew. Not your ever-so perceptive sister, or your overly protective mother, or your happy-go-lucky father. Not even your friends, really, despite them witnessing the entire thing. _"You're not a monster."_ They'd assured you. _"You're not dead. You're still Danny."_

You'd believed them, at least for a while. At least until you'd been left alone in the dead of night with nothing else to do but mull over all the evidence that said otherwise.

Your friends were long gone _(-They abandoned you-)_ and could no longer be there to sooth you;probably in bed by now; stealing what sleep they can in preparation for school tomorrow. They'd helped you in the hours subsequent to the accident, even while knowing, at least to some extent, what you'd become. They'd promised you that they'd work something out _(-get rid of you-)_, but what could possibly be done? You were dead; some disgusting freak of nature that happened to wear the face of a loved one.

Dead.

_(-But alive?-)_

A ghost.

_(-Putrid ectoplasmic scum-)_

Nothing confirmed that more for you than the lack of shadows. Everything was illuminated, even when there was no source of light. It was one of the perks _(-curses-)_ of being dead, apparently. It made sense, really; seeing as how you were no longer a kid scared of the dark, but one of the monsters lurking in it. You're now one of the monsters that make people scared to go in the attic, or look out their window at night in fear of what they'd see. You're the mysterious creak out in the hallway when no-one else was home, and the cause of the door closing when there's no draft. You're the one they tell stories about around the campfire in the woods while trying to terrify their friends.

No longer pursued by the monsters, you're one of **_them_**now.

Your reprieve had been snatched away from you, and instead of being allowed to die –to peacefully, and mercifully be allowed to slip away- you'd been turned into this _(-You should be six feet under-)_. Something your parents hated _(-They did this to you-)_, something everyone feared _(-You never did anything-)_

You'd never felt so cold.

Cold, because your friends had managed to convince you that it was just your mind playing tricks on you; that there couldn't possibly still be that thing inside of you. _(-Why'd you get your hopes up?-)_

Cold, because when you'd walked past the Fenton ghost finder earlier, it'd all but woken the entire household. _(-They already know what you are-)_

Cold, because when you'd went to the bathroom to splash your face with water, you'd found the monster's face staring back at you from the mirror. _(-It'll always be there-)_

Cold, because this was the worst type of nightmare; the kind where you couldn't run from the monster. The kind where the monster gets ever so closer, because for some reason, you're rendered immobile. _(-Can't escape-)_

Except this time it wasn't a nightmare.

...this time, the monster was inside you.

_(-The monster __**IS**__ you-)_

Suddenly, driven by a surge of desperation, you throw the blankets off and scramble out of bed. You land on the floor in an awkward heap, but it doesn't stop you. You know what you have to do; what you have to do to protect your family. You've been tossing it back and forth in your mind for hours.

You have to fight the monster. _(-Won't work-)_

You have to kill the monster.

_(-You can't kill something that's already dead-)_

You would normally have difficulty getting downstairs without waking your mother, who is renowned for being a light sleeper, but today is different. Today you make no noise what-so-ever as you easily navigate your way through your childhood home. As you reach the kitchen your pace slows, and you begin to realise that this isn't really your home anymore. This is the Fenton household; home of Jack, Maddie, Jasmine and the late Danny Fenton. You don't belong here.

You're an intruder.

Something that isn't supposed to exist.

A Phantom.

_"Let's see if phantoms can die"_ you whisper to yourself, reaching for the draw handle and yanking it open. You've _(-Conveniently-)_ forgotten the basement full of anti-ghost weapons, and instead gone for a common knife as your weapon of choice. There's a slight clanging noise as you grab the hilt of a butcher's knife, and you stand completely still as you listen for the sound of approaching footsteps._ (-You're hoping they'll come and stop you-)_

There are none. (-They don't care about you-)

You take a deep, shaky breath and grip the knife firmly. Then, slowly, you close your eyes and focus on the cold feeling that resides in your chest _(-Where your heart__** should**__ be-)_ and stifle a scream when the blue rings _(-that deceived you into thinking you were alive-)_ return and tear away your perfect disguise; leaving you in your true form. The remnant of someone your parents once loved but now wouldn't hesitate to shoot. _(-They're going to rip you apart-)_

Your newly sharpened mind whispers softly to you, warning you not to do what you've already decided to follow through. He tells you that no matter what you think now, things are going to get better, that you're only throwing away an opportunity to truly live. He talks as if he knows, somehow, what the future holds for you; but he can't possibly, so it you decide it's a trick. Ruses to try and let the evil inside you take over and hurt the ones you love.

You know it must be a trick, because you couldn't possibly ever be happy again. Not as a monster.

You rest the tip of the blade on the skin of your chest, readying yourself to puncture the flesh beneath. Do you even have flesh? You wonder. You don't think so; you think you remember your father saying that ghosts are practically hollow. An outer shell to carry around the raw ectoplasm, and in the middle of it all, a delicate infrastructure to hold the ghost's memories, desires, and most importantly; its obsession. If you destroy the core, you destroy the ghost.

The whispers in your mind fall silent; waiting to see if you're actually going to do it. You'll have to be quick, of course, as so you don't back out at the last minute. But you also have to make sure you push it in far enough, because if you don't-

The blade makes a sickening _'shink'_ sound as it's suddenly rammed into your chest, almost without your consent. It hurts, shockingly so, and a delirious portion of your mind asks why you can feel it at all _(-It shouldn't be able to hurt you. Something's not right-)_.You sink to your knees as the pain threatens to tear you apart. The cold in your chest is growing stronger, colder _(-how is that possible?-) _and an unearthly glow surrounds you as the world slowly spins away. _So this is what it's like to die?_ You ask yourself, feeling content despite the pain. You fight the urge to scream, because you know that this is a happy occasion. You're ridding the world of an abomination.

Your parents would be proud.

Sounds and sights no longer exist as more and more of the neon green toxin erupts from the wound, and soon your face is resting against the floor as it pools out around you. You have no strength to move, but you don't care. It's for the best.

Memories come then, of times before you became an abomination; and you enjoy watching them again. It feels nice to know that the smiling, bubbly faces in your memories will be living in a safer world now.

You sigh, despite the lack of functioning lungs, _(-Ghosts don't breathe; your parents taught you that, remember?-)_ because you realise, that in a way, you're a hero. You probably saved countless lives doing what you just did. You've never really been worth much; average grades, socially inept, walking in the shadows of your family... but now, you've finally proven your worth. You killed the monster.

You're a hero.

_(-...In a sick, twisted kind of way.-)_

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You wake up, and fight the urge to cry. You're in a room completely devoid of color, hooked up to various machines that blink and beep and drip as they fight to keep you alive. But it isn't your dismal surroundings that make you want to cry, but the fact that your family and friends are all there wishing you well _(-They don't realise what you are-)_. They tell you your sister found you collapsed in the kitchen; having presumably fainted. She called the ambulance and went with your parents to the hospital and told the doctors all about that 'little shock' you'd had earlier in the day. The doctors think it was just a case of PTSD, and that you'll be fine to go home after a little rest.

Your friends hug you and jokingly thank you for getting them out of a day of school, but you don't get long before their parents come to take them home. Your mother plays with your hair and tells you to never scare her like that again, Jazz sits in the corner and reads; occasionally shooting you reassuring glances, and your father sits bedside and rambles on about unrelated things in a cunning attempt to keep your mind off the cause of your stress.

There is no mention of ghosts. Or the knife. Or of the ectoplasm that must have been all over the floor when you'd passed out. Or of what your appearance had presumably been of when you'd been discovered by your sister.

You ask your parents and sister if they'd noticed anything out of the ordinary when they'd found you, but all you get are three confused headshakes. When they ask why, you tell them that you'd thought you'd seen something downstairs; which is why you'd gone down there in the first place. Your mother fetches the doctor and he calmly explains that PTSD can lead to mild hallucinations, and that you shouldn't be worried.

You decide you were imagining things, and that the white haired demon had been a figment of your imagination. You take comfort in the fact that your heart is beating, and that your chest is no longer cold. The constant and steady beeping of the heart rate monitor does wonders to sooth you, and everything seems perfect.

You're calm when the nurse comes in, and you barely flinch when she injects morphine into the drip and ushers everyone from the room. They'll see you later, they all promise, and soon only the nurse remains. She checks the monitors and gives you a pat on the shoulder before she too makes her way towards the exit.

_"You try and relax now, Hun."_ She calls, fumbling for the light switch. _"I'll be back to check on you soon."_

She flicks the switch and leaves the room, just as a feeling of overwhelming dread washes over you. The drugs are muddling your mind, so at first you can't remember why you're so distressed. It dawns on you slowly as you lay in the dark _(-Or, so it's supposed to be-)_ room. You can see perfectly; there's no light, and you can see as if it were midday. You try to scream, but the weight of the drugs is too overwhelming. You desperately tell yourself that they must have left the curtains open, but it's a nimble excuse, and you realise you're only delaying the inevitable and putting yourself through more grief by trying to keep your hopes up.

You accept it, for the second time. You're dead. A ghost. But there's one thing that keeps bugging you. You can't quite grasp it through the haze of the morphine, but it's there. Almost like a flicker of hope.

It'll have to wait, because now your eyelids are drooping closed and blocking out the eerily illuminated room. You find it easier to cope without being able to see the evidence, and with nothing to look at anymore, your body focuses on the beep, beep, beep emitting from your bedside. Now you can pretend that you're not some freak that can see in the dark, because currently, behind your heavy lids, it is dark. You're not a shadow, you're a person. A boy, just a kid that has a loving family and great friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

This time, as you slip under, your mind chooses but a single memory to show you. It's of your father, explaining to you the difference between a ghost and a human.

_"...Sure, they have all those abilities, son, but we have something that they don't."_ He says, reaching for your tiny five year old hand and pressing it to his chest. _"We're alive, aren't we? We have heartbeats..."_

The memory swirls away, and you're almost gone now. The faint 'Ga-Glump, Ga-Glump' of your father's heart becomes the steady beeping that continues to echo around the room. You don't know why, and you're too tired to even attempt to work it out, but for some strange reason, you like the beeping. It means something significant, you can tell, but why that's so still escapes you. Listening to that steady rhythm, everything almost seems ok again.

You feel human again.

_(-...Almost.-)_

* * *

Hahahaa...haha...haaaaa yeah ok, sorry. This, err... doesn't really make all that much sense.

If you're wondering, this is my (fashionably late) Angst Day tribute. I haven't had all that time to write lately, so I thought I'd write a little one-shot (possibly two-shot, but probably not) and then I realised it was Angst Day, and you all know how much I love my angst, sooo... ;)

This fic takes place on the night after Danny got his powers. I was thinking about how he would have reacted, and I realised 'Hey, he was practically turned into his parent's worst enemy and his own worst nightmare. And geez, who isn't at least a little scared of ghosts? Imagine if you actually became one...' (Yeah, I'm a little tiny weenie bit down at the moment, what of it?)

And there you have it. My reasoning behind this piece of not-much-sense-making literature. (That was amazing wording and you know it) ;)

Seriously though, and his parents are ghost hunters...

I don't really know for sure, but I think this could maybe possibly even slightly be considered canon. Correct me if I'm wrong, as always.

Let me know if you'd like to see this continued. If I get more than five people on board, I might. Otherwise, please just review and tell me how I went. This was my first attempt at writing second person, which was actually a little _(-Very-)_ daunting for me. ;)

Well, I'm off on vacation for the next few days. You all have a nice day now.

-Laura-


End file.
